Roxanne

Three years ago she took a Greyhound bus from a small town in Georgia to Miami, determined to become a real recording artist. Long, wavy hair dyed lavender, emerald eyes, hot-pink lipstick, big gold hoop earrings, a curvy build. She always carries a pair of white-framed sunglasses, and her bag holds a box of cassette tapes full of songs she has written herself.

Personality. On stage, she’s the cool, aloof queen who silences the entire crowd; off stage, she’s a small-town girl dipping fries into milkshakes and loudly singing along—badly—to the radio. Impulsive and optimistic, she jumps at any chance to hit the road, but she’s hopeless with directions and terrified of the dark. When praised for her singing, she gets so shy she doesn’t know where to put her hands. She takes dreaming seriously, never allowing anyone to mock her dreams. Her speech carries a gentle Southern drawl; when surprised, she says “Oh my God,” and when happy, she hums as she replies.